emotion in motion
by airbefore
Summary: The desire he harbors for her flares in his chest, spills over into his veins without his permission. He wants to follow her. Wants to take her by the hand and tug her into the back of her cruiser. Crush her body between his and the stiff vinyl seat, hands and lips roaming.


**Disclaimer**: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.

**AN:** This one goes out to the awesome shimmeryshine

* * *

He can't stop staring at her. She's glaring daggers at him from across the trunk but _fuck _how does she expect him not to look at her when she looks like _that_? He can't do it.

He's always enjoyed looking at her, of course. He's a healthy, heterosexual man and she's - she's Beckett. Detective. Kate. Hot doesn't even begin to cover it. Five miles of leg growing out of sky high heels, a body that could stop traffic and a face capable of launching a thousand ships a hundred times over. Now, though. Now that he's had her - had those legs wrapped around his waist and over his shoulders, felt the dips and curves of her body molded to his, woken up to the early morning sun spilling over the sharp angles of her face - he couldn't stop looking at her, watching her, if he wanted.

Images flash across his mind as she stalks away from him; memories that have no place in this moment but that he can't bring himself to banish. Her eyes rolling back when he bites at that one spot inside her left elbow. The hard press of her tongue against the back of her teeth as she writhes underneath him, her head thrown back and his name trapped in her throat. One of his shirts hanging off her thin shoulders as she folds herself up next to him in bed, a cup of coffee cradled in her hands. The desire he harbors for her flares in his chest, spills over into his veins without his permission. He wants to follow her. Wants to take her by the hand and tug her into the back of her cruiser. Crush her body between his and the stiff vinyl seat, hands and lips roaming.

The sun beats down on him as he stands alone, watching her. It seeps through his clothes, makes the heavy blue vest tight against his chest as the soles of his shoes sink into the heat softened pavement. She's talking to the group of assembled cops, a staggered line of sweaty, serious faces turned in her direction, listening intently while she breaks down the plan, gives out assignments and instructions, does everything she can to make sure they'll all come out of it safely and successfully.

He already has his directive - stay put and out of trouble. He's tempted to push the boundaries, to follow them into the building, tossing hushed quips at the back of her neck as she weaves through the warehouse, stalking her prey. He wants to feel the adrenaline flood his body. Wants to feel the thrill of victory and the streak of pride rolling through his chest when he watches her take the suspect down, her voice loud and rough as she orders him to freeze, drop it, turn around slowly with his hands behind his head. He closes his eyes and pictures it - watches her holster her weapon and pull out the cuffs, rights pouring off her tongue like wine, dry and biting.

Her voice, barking out a command from a hundred feet away, breaks him from his reverie, snaps his eyes open. He sways on the spot as the group moves en masse toward the building, his body itching to run after them and toss itself into the fray. Beckett brings up the rear, her hand resting loosely against that damn thigh holster, turns to look at him just before she disappears into the shadows. Even from this distance her message is clear: Stay there. Don't do anything stupid.

Sweat rolls down the valley of his spine as he waits impatiently by the car, tracking the trajectory of the sweep in his mind. The precision movement from room to room, kevlar vests whispering gently as they quickly and quietly eliminate potential blind spots and rabbit holes. He knows she's taken point for her team, can picture her at the head of the pyramid with Ryan and Esposito flanking her, quite literally watching her back.

He can't stop himself from checking the the time, flicking his wrist over to stare at the face of his watch, astonished by the way the minutes have slowed to a crawl. She's trained for this, he knows. She knows what she's doing, is good at her job. She's not alone. He repeats it like a mantra, wills himself to calm down because there is absolutely no reason to panic. She's a professional.

The tinkling of glass on concrete draws his attention away from the front of the building, pulls his eyes to the left. A man - long and wiry, his naked upper body littered with crudely drawn prison tattoos - picks his way out of the freshly broken window, scaling quickly down corrugated metal to land hard on the pavement. Castle recognizes him as the man they're searching for, Bryan Collins, and knows there's no way he can alert Beckett without tipping off the suspect as well.

Silently, he trots across the wide expanse of the parking lot, catching one of the swat guys in his peripheral vision as he moves past the open bay door and skirts around to the side of the building. Collins breaks into a sprint when Castle's foot crunches across the shards of glass, dodging around crates and barrels, searching for a way out. The suspect hits the chain link fence at full speed, the metal rattling loudly as he starts to frantically climb. Dipping his knees, Castle pushes off the ground with outstretched arms, grasping fingers closing tightly around the low hanging pants of the fleeing man. With a grunt, he tugs Collins off the fence and wrestles him to the scorching pavement, uses his body weight to hold the writhing man down.

Castle looks up when he hears the pounding of running bodies, the sharp report of Beckett's heels easy to pick out over the dull thuds of heavier, booted feet. The proud smile melts off his face as she approaches, her hair flying wild behind her as she runs at him, face set and gun drawn.

"What the hell, Castle?"

Her voice is a splash of freezing water against his sweaty face, hard and harsh. A painful stitch in his ribs slows his response, his spasming lungs not yet capable of forming words. Two of the officers holster their guns and move toward him, grasping the still bellowing suspect by the arms and pulling him up off the ground. Castle pushes to his feet, a sheepish grin pulling at his lips.

"Go team?"

* * *

She sends him back to the precinct with the boys, her eyes flashing hotly as she shoves him toward the car. Fuck, she's going to kill him.

He waits for her at her desk, planted firmly in his own chair, not daring to push her any further today. His left leg shakes as he waits, knee jiggling up and down uncontrollably with residual adrenaline and fear of just how bad it's going to be when she finally shows up. The argument plays out in his mind, his subconscious in the role of Kate, rebuffing and refuting every explanation or excuse he comes up with.

Lost inside his head, he doesn't hear her arrive, misses the angry staccato of her heels on the cold tile floor as she approaches. He jumps when she says his name, a low growl that sends tendrils of nervous energy and entirely inappropriate arousal crawling down his spine.

"Castle." He scans her face, finds her mouth a hard line, eyes shuttered. _Shit_. "Get up."

She spins on her heel and marches away, doesn't bother to look back and see if he's following. Sighing deeply, he slides out of the chair and trails after her, a puppy with his tail tucked firmly between his legs. She leads him down the hall, her steps quick and sure, back a straight line.

He can't help but stare at her as she moves, her body lithe and smooth even in anger. He wants to reach out to her, run his fingers over that damn holster, pluck the badge off her hip and untuck her shirt, drag his mouth across her skin. Castle loses himself for a moment, doesn't notice when she throws open a door on the left side of the hall and pushes him into the dark cave of a supply closet.

"Are we finally fulfilling my sex in a supply closet fantasy?" The joke lands flat and heavy in the space between them but he forces a chuckle out anyway, tries to swallow around the hard knot of fear at the base of his throat.

Kate whips around and he catches a glimpse of her face, can see the vein pulsing in her forehead before she closes the door behind herself, throwing the room into a murky dimness.

"What the hell were you thinking? Have you lost your mind?"

"He was getting away. I was only trying -"

"To get yourself killed?!" Her body jerks with the force of her explosion and she takes a step forward, arms swinging away from her chest for balance. "Fuck, Castle. He could have been armed."

"He wasn't."

"But he could have been! And you just tackled him, threw yourself into it because you just can't stand to miss out on the the action. You have to be in the middle of it all the time. Have to play the hero-"

"That's not fair," he cuts her off, his own anger taking root. "He was getting away, Beckett, and there was _no way_ you guys were going to get to him in time. I just did what needed to be done."

She stares at him, her face unreadable in the shadows of the tiny room. He decides to risk it and takes a step toward her, cringes when she takes a mirroring step back.

"Kate-"

"What do you think Gates is going to say?" He can tell she's losing steam, anger dissipating with time and distance. "You know she's still pissed at me and looking for any reason she can find to kick you out for good."

"It won't be for this. Even she can't deny that I was actually being helpful." He takes another step toward her and this time she doesn't move away. Her body is still rigid and closed but she stands her ground, meets his eye. "It'll be fine, Kate. Nothing I haven't done before." He pauses, lets a grin sneak into his voice. "Nothing I won't do again. It's really not a big deal."

"Not a big deal?" Her voice drops to a dangerously low whisper, disbelief and anger coloring every word. "I told you to stay by the car, Castle. I trusted you to stay where I asked you to, to stay out of the way."

"I had every intention of doing that."

"Then why the hell didn't you?"

"You know why, Beckett. He was escaping! I had two options - let him go or stop him. I think we both know I picked the right one."

"No, you didn't have two options. You had one - alert the _actual_ cops and let us do our jobs."

"And how was I supposed to let you know where he was without spooking him? Tell me how that would have worked." She glares at him as he steps toward her again, cutting the distance between them by half. He can feel the tension and anger radiating off her body, lets it fuel his own burgeoning fire. "You know I'm right. I made the right decision and you're overreac-"

Her tongue is hot and hard as it slips past his lips, curling around his own and stealing his words, pulling the breath from his lungs. Her nails dig into the back of his neck as she slams herself into him, bodies colliding roughly. Castle surges forward, pushes her up against the door, her badge and holster digging into his thigh.

"You are such an idiot," she breathes against his mouth, her hands tearing frantically at his shirt, ripping the tails out of his pants. She's pulling at his belt, nails digging into his stomach, branding him as hers. "Such a fucking _idiot_."

Her badge clatters to the floor when he yanks at her belt, unfastening her holster and pants, fingers dipping down past the waistband of her underwear. He drags his fingers across her and groans when she grinds into his hand, her hips rolling between his body and the door.

"Does this mean you're not mad at me anymore?" He slicks two fingers into her and grins as her eyes roll back, head lolling against the door. She lets out a low, keening moan when he runs the pad of his thumb over her clit, his thigh pressed hard between hers.

"No," she pants, voice laced with defiance. "I'm still pissed and you're still an - _oh, fuck_ - an idiot."

Castle stills her hips with his free hand, fingers brushing lightly over her stomach. He can barely make out her eyes in the dark, wide and shining, trained on him. Her hands slide warmly over his chest, fingers slipping up his neck to burrow into his hair.

"I know you're worried. I am too." He brushes his lips over her cheek, smiles as she sags against him. "But regardless of whatever else we are now, we're still the same thing we've been for the past four years." He leans back to look at her, a smile tugging at his lips. "Partners. We have each others backs. We protect each other as much as we can. I can't stop doing that any more than you can."

"I know."

"So I'm going to be stupid sometimes and you're going to get mad. Same as it's always been. The difference," he raises an eyebrow, fingers picking back up a gentle rhythm inside of her, "is now we get to have makeup sex in supply closets."

She chuckles against his lips, her breath flowing hot and sticky over his skin as his fingers pick up speed, twisting and curling inside of her. She breaks quickly, her body going slack against his thigh, a trilling cry fluttering in her throat.

Quickly, he pops the button strapping her gun to her thigh and pulls off the holster, his thoughts just coherent enough to stop him from tossing it across the room. She pushes on his pants as he puts the gun on one of the rickety metal shelving units, her hand closing around him like a vise. He thrusts into her hand, body thrumming with adrenaline and need and want, his mouth skating up and down her throat, teeth scraping roughly over the line of her jaw.

Her pants are on the ground and she's climbing up the wall, legs tight around his waist, fingers buried in his hair. He pushes into her and swallows her moan, hands spread wide over the perfect curve of her ass. She bites down on his shoulder to muffle her cries, the piercing sharpness of her teeth spurring him on, driving his hips into her over and over. Castle drags his hand over her hip, thumb dipping down to press against her clit and she's coming, hard and fast, her body jerking in his arms, clamping down around him, dragging him up up up and over with her.

He pants against the side of her neck, the wilted collar of her dress shirt tickling his chin. "Okay, supply room fantasy has been sufficiently fulfilled." Her legs loosen around his waist and he lets her down gently, making sure she has her balance before taking a step back and attempting to right his clothing.

"Sufficiently?" Her eyebrow quirks up as she smirks at him, tugging her pants over her thighs. "That was only sufficient?"

"Well, I _was_ kinda hoping to score a double and combine supply room sex with thigh holster sex." He nods over at the shelf where her service weapon is resting. "That thing is far more effective in fantasies than reality."

"Wait five minutes before you follow me," she murmurs, slipping her heels back on before leaning in to brush her lips against his cheek. Smiling, she plucks the holster from the shelf and moves toward the door, her free hand resting on the handle as she turns back to look at him. "And, Castle? If you're good, maybe later I'll show you exactly how_ effective _this thing," she waves the holster at him, "can be."


End file.
